Fellowship of the PMS
by Alodia
Summary: To sum it all up and make a long story short; this is an interpretation of how the Fellowship was formed in modern times; a High School version, where nine were brought together for a mission...quest...thing.note**initials are the same in this&book**


An Unlikely Fellowship  
  
A gray, wearying mist had seeped in, tucking away even the minutest corners of Middle Earth in a most reassuring, comforting way, as a long, tedious day had been spent. Alas, a spinning sensation seemed to overtake the several diverse, yet so similar, surroundings...  
A whispering breath of purely fresh air swept across open plantation country, tall stems of greenery swaying slightly in the wind, a lullaby accomplice to the gentle music the invisible current succeeded in producing; the Shire. Soft songs played in the melodic voices of the creatures of the forest land, large trees of all sorts opening up their lush branches as welcoming arms awaiting the next dance, a mossy bedded ground cushioning any steps taken, both lightly blithe and heavily burdened; Mirkwood. Intensely bitter air crisply settling down in the crevices even the most nimble of beings could not reach, boulders stonily guarding paths, darkness enveloping anything that braves the many hidden caves, all of which is well valued by residents; mountain halls. Bustling activity filling the aspect of every day life, a flurried frenzy of faces and events far beyond the imagination of most, but pleasant in itself, white walls shining gallantly, and beholding the legendary tales of vigilant pasts; Gondor. And then a wandering mind, soaking in these separate sceneries, withholding the secrets of all, connected to each, a life envied even if beheld.  
The swirling continued until all had transformed so significantly that it was unrecognizable. Alas, the essences are the same...  
Perhaps there is more to everything than is credited... Perhaps this is just what is needed to convey the message of which is so vital.  
  
* * * *  
  
Leonardo Grevon rolled groggily onto his side, squeezing his eyes closed as if they could shut out the aggravating ringing blaring into his ears.  
  
With a muffled grumble into his feather downed pillow he propelled himself up with both well muscled, tan arms, pressing into his firm mattress and, now clearly irritated, jammed down his clenched fist onto the button located on his small bedside clock, silencing the offending alarm. It read in its horribly reality grounding, red digital letters 5:45 am, the time he so grimly faced early in the morning when he would have to awake and prepare himself properly for the upcoming school days.  
  
Regretfully he trudged, purposely dragging his feet to slow himself, to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and illuminated the glossy surfaces that were scattered throughout the expensive room. Present were marble countertops with silver faucets and handles, a large, circular Jacuzzi/bathtub was placed on the opposite side of the room, and then frosted glass doors enclosed a stand up shower beside it.  
  
Now Leo (short for Leonardo, a nickname he had acquired earlier on in life) hunched over the sink and rubbed his face vigorously with his open palmed hands, finally straightening up and slowly dragging his fingertips down to eventually slip off of his chin altogether.  
  
For a moment he stared into the depths of the mirror at his reflection, slightly tilting his handsome face to get better angled looks. Piercing azure eyes blinked back at him, lustrous blonde hair usually spiked slickly was matted down to his head, slightly ruffled from sleep, a strong jaw set in a grimace from being stirred at such a premature hour, and even a small loop earring graced the top of his left ear; a result from his rebellious stage as a younger teenager which was very short lived. A full length mirror lay behind him on the wall, and he spun to receive a broader view of himself. Standing at six foot one and donning nicely proportioned sized muscles that were perfect for his form, he found himself brooding over his entire high school career.  
  
He was a senior now, top dog, but then again he had always been Mr. Popular. Always hung out in the right crowds (or wrong ones, depending on how a person looked at it), had the best friends, could attract and get almost any girl he desired, and to top it all off, he was rich. Not to mention one of the most envious bodily builds imaginable for nearly anyone.  
  
However, as he removed his clothing and carelessly tossed his boxers aside, and then turned on the shower, he pushed most social viewpoints to the back of his mind. It was spring, and time to get ready for the upcoming academic portions of finals; and college.  
  
But once the cool, refreshing crystal droplets washed over him, Leo could not help but to momentarily forget his present troubles and emerge himself into temporary bliss... * * * *  
  
A rooster's crow broke short the dreams that smoothly played out within Frank Bort's mind. Knowingly he lifted his arms high above his head and then allowed them to fall to his side as he lay comfortably in bed. His bright, baby blue eyes fluttered open and took in his simple but pleasurable room consisting of his bed at one wall, a dresser and desk at the one opposite, and then the closet between the two walls on one side and a door leading to the hall on the other. Traditional whitewashed walls and ceiling, with smooth oak hardwood flooring completed the onset, and Frank pried himself from the warmth of his blankets and sheets to slip his bare feet onto the chilly floor. Being eighteen years old and still so innocent was a rarity, but certainly a cherished one. He was well built but a tad small for being a farmer's son, five foot seven, although his curly bark- colored locks were an adorable accent to his entire appearance.  
  
Casually he stripped off what he had worn to bed and exchanged it for a fresh set of clothing, jeans and a politely naive sweater the color of golden wheat in the fall that every year spread out across the fields around his home. The white undershirt that could be detected from the v- neck of the top gave Frank the completed good boy façade.  
  
The calm, slow life is what he had always yearned for and was given most of his life, but now as he was graduating, soon enough he would have to abandon the serenity and simplicity of the farm life he so prized within. Although he certainly dreaded the oncoming alteration of his routine, he supposed that there must be some sort of adventure awaiting him that would be exhilarating enough... Besides, there was the upside that he and his best friend were heading to the same college, so they'd be in it together no matter what was thrown at them as they had done all throughout their school careers.  
  
Now sunlight managed to spill into the room, rippling out across the floor, the early pre-dawn darkness being chased off until the day would end again. It was time Frank headed off to school, because he lived relatively out of town on the plantation and walked to school every day. With a childish grin playing upon his lips he exited the room, strolling contentedly down the corridor to the steps, descending unhurriedly. Before departing he would most likely decide to select a slice of mushroom pie-a favorite of his for an unknown reason-and glass of milk, to set him until lunch...  
  
With one last fleeting smile he took his leave, breathing in and then exhaling deeply, enjoying life just for what it was. * * * *  
  
Greasy locks fell slightly-but purposely-out of place, obstructing the vision of Brian O'Gloine. He heaved out a heavy, displeasured sigh and shook his head to move them, but after quivering a little due to the disturbance, they settled back into the same previous position. 'Eh, well,' his mind muttered to him, provoked, 'you're the one who wanted the punk look to begin with...' Once again he attempted a free-handed adjustment of hair placement, but failed, and in doing so he gave up.  
  
Rolling-quite literally-off of his mattress, which lay flat on the floor without the support of any bedsprings or frame, he crawled over to a huge box where he threw in all of his clean laundry-the rest is scattered randomly all over the uncouth floor of his bedroom-reached in, and withdrew a baggy Marilyn Manson t-shirt, along with a pair of jeans about five sizes too large for him, decorated with safety pins, which he had added himself.  
  
Lazily he managed to, all while lying on the floor, change successfully, when he finally stood and, for the benefit of others, ran a comb once through his unkempt hair. It didn't do a whole lot.  
  
Now he did a once over in the mirror along the wall, which was dusty and cracked in the upper left hand corner. A gangly, but slightly muscular youth he stood hunched at five foot nine with dark mahogany hair that wasn't cut in months, an uncertain face due to being so unconfident all of his life, with hazel eyes peering shyly out from beneath the untidy bangs.  
  
Suddenly, however, livid yells echoed fiercely into his room, and he narrowed his eyes into slits at the very sound. As the screams of fury continued without hesitation, he shoved his clenched fists deeply into his pockets and stalked from the room, romping down the stairs of the house. He paused, giving a sidelong glance into the kitchen, revealing his mother and father shouting insults and complaints at each other, getting up into one another's faces. All of a sudden his powerfully built father raised a hand and slapped his other parent, who flew backwards onto the table, where she presumed to rage through the tears glistening on her cheek, where a welt was also appearing. Brian barely flinched at seeing this; he noted the bruise still visible on her right eye from yesterday. It was all a routine, they didn't care, and he certainly didn't give a rip anymore. When one spends all their life around it, numbing it all becomes a part of the process.  
  
Turning away from something he knew that he should stop if he wanted to do what was right, he forcefully wrenched open the front door and slammed it shut behind him. Right and wrong seemed as one concept nowadays... * * * * Sandrew Gli've had hands that worked like a small merry men, each assigned to his own task and performing it excellently, lively but carefully pruning the plants with which he labored with every day. The sun barely peaked out from the horizon, its gold splendor cascading over the landscape and tinting everything with a bit of its own color. With a longing glance back at his current occupational purpose, Drew-a much simpler epithet many called him-squatted beside his precious garden, scanning over it one last time, before gathering his tools into bundles under his arms and setting off towards the back shed to put them in their proper places. After doing so he slipped quietly into the kitchen, not wanting to disturb either sleeping parent, and removed his gloves at the sink. Softly turning on the tap, he allowed the well water to gently caress his aching fingers in a soothing way, eradicating the crusty, dusty dirt that had built up from his efforts outside.  
  
Drying his hands on a dishtowel set aside by the sink, he gazed out the door's clear topped window and allowed himself to be free of thoughts, if only to watch the sunrise...  
  
Before long, however, it was already well above the countryside, and so his earth brown colored eyes focused after revealing a dazed, far off look in them. Drew ran his fingers slickly through his top of plain short, russet tresses and shrugged off a hostile wariness that threatened to overcome him from being awake so early.  
  
Ascending the stairs on tiptoes, narrowly avoiding creaky floorboards, he managed to reach his room to quickly change into a pair of casual jeans and plain white t-shirt, disposing of his soiled garments in the laundry basket. He was a very organized, polite young man ranking five foot six and having a few extra pounds... Not very overweight but slightly, you see, and joyously content despite so. As he was leaving his room he chanced a glimpse upon the wall and allowed a faint smile to touch his lips at the photograph he spotted; one of himself and his closest comrade Frank Bort, when they must have been thirteen years old at a carnival. Such a history they both had together... Pushing distracting contemplations aside he focused intently on the book he had also retrieved from his bedroom; a calculus assessment primer. He was having a bit of difficulty in this specific area and knew that when he reached school his best friend would help him study. Finals were rapidly approaching and all seniors were frantic to cram knowledge into their mentality as to do well for college concerns.  
  
Still stressful about the remnants left of the school year, Drew distractedly got into his old red Chevy and started the engine, carefully pulling out of the driveway and cruising down the road. * * * *  
  
'Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty,' the numbers bit out like bellows within Gerry Gaunght's skull. Repeatedly he flexed and powered his muscles, mainly biceps and triceps, as the push ups continued without hesitation, over and over again. 'Fifty- five, fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty.' Beads of sweat trickled endlessly from his cropped, ashy bronze hair and down his face, occasionally stinging his dark brunette eyes, and the perspiration caused his workout sweatpants to cling uncomfortably to his thick, stocky legs, and his bare back and chest glistened with the moisture.  
  
Strenuous as it may be, he continued, nearly desperate not to give in to his aching body screaming for relaxation. 'Seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six,' he pushed on, short, ragged breaths escaping his parched throat though the counting still took place silently. Perhaps he did not even necessarily need this workout, especially so early in the morning when he could just do it after school in the weight room, but some part of him felt a passion to prove himself; to himself. Setting his jaw he pressed his chest against the floor once more and retracted into the air, the arduous workout causing the sequence to be screeched louder in his mind.  
  
'Eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety.' An emphasis especially piercing was put on the second digit of every amount as he neared his finish. 'Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine...'  
  
"One hundred," he finished in a raspy gasp, collapsing in a heap on the carpeted floor of the room, inhaling and exhaling deeply while resting his fatigued form. He had pushed himself to his limits at such an early time but he didn't care, he was idyllic even after just putting himself through such a strain.  
  
Standing-a little shakily due to his calisthenics-he grabbed a towel he had tossed nearby before he had began and wiped the sweat from his heavily dampened body. Unfortunately there was no time in which he could take a quick shower; he was late as it was, so all he survived with was a quick change of clothes and pop tart from the toaster. It sufficed, however, for the time being as he rushed from his home and thrust himself into the Ford truck parked readily beside his house. Revving up the engine he plastered a wolfish grin on his face.  
  
Today would be the day; the day he sought revenge. * * * *  
  
Two similarly muddy-brown, curly heads of hair were at rapt attention, faces pulled together in earnest, whispered words failing to escape their bowed circle. Both leaned casually against the rough red brick sides of the building-plotting, in all honesty-and stole mischievous glances here or there, every once in awhile peering at passersby.  
  
Patrick Tomes and Mark Blugh, two young men well built by nature but lacking activity to get better physique, slighted their watching of innocent students entering the school. They eyed everyone in a sarcastically suspicious way that implicated they were spying on them, but only received glares of daggers in return, for all of the student body knew that those two, when in each other's company, could be up to nothing that they themselves would want to entangle their affairs with.  
  
"This will be one of the best yet," Pat roguishly grinned, pretending to stroke his chin in evil thoughtfulness. "What do you suppose?"  
  
"Excellent," Mark ominously agreed with a wicked glint shining in his tan eyes. "Even from all the pranks we've left as a symbol in the past, this one, and done while we're in our last year here, will leave us recognized forever!"  
  
"Right, that's what I was going for." Pat checked over his shoulder quickly, before recurring his auburn eyes to his best friend and cousin. "Okay, here's what we're going to do..." * * * *  
  
Andrew Arsent wistfully gazed about him on this beautifully perfect day. Shuffling his feet, he strolled from his slightly dark, brooding world to the lively colorful one that awaited him. He suddenly found himself caught up in a crowd, swarming students rushing into the school to be on time, and he was surrounded. They all chatted vivaciously to one another about normal, every day things, their worst problems being that of who the boy down the hall was crushing on, and who was dating whom, who won the last baseball game, and what kind of car the new kid drove. Piteous babble that meant nothing in the slightest to Andrew... They all dwelled upon such useless information that would-most probably-not affect them any more than they assumed mentally.  
  
Over time the multitude of scholars dispersed their own separate ways, and soon he was, almost, alone. Except now that Andrew's eyes traveled and took in the last people to be caught dead outside so late, cutting it so close. Leonardo Grevon coolly parked his silver Dodge Viper and stepped out, sauntering at an unhurried pace towards the doors. Shortly thereafter, two more vehicles pulled in; a noisy blue Ford truck, out of which Gerry Gaunght emerged, giving Leo a murderous look before heading inside as well, and then a rusty red old Chevy chugged in and stopped, two passengers revealing themselves from it. Frank Bort got out from shotgun and Sandrew Gli've stepped out from the driver's side; since Frank usually walks to school, Andrew noted that his best friend Drew must have spotted him and picked him up along the way. Then there was an awkward figure hunched and pursuing his course up the pathway to the learning facility; Brian O'Gloine's shadowed face perked up and the sound of loud muttering, which came from the only other two scarcities left, Mark and Pat.  
  
An odd emotion arose within Andrew at all of these events which only took place in a few moments' time. None of them associated with each other, even though they came across one another's path, they received less than a second's glance. They may have seemed so completely different, but in truth they were very much similar; and Andrew of all people would know, being who he was... He was a loner, wandering through all of their settings, and realizing how close people could become for impending from such diverse cultures. * * * *  
  
Gordon T. Glavion, a history teacher at the high school, sat laid back in his desk chair shuffling and ruffling through some papers that needed to be filed. Grades, grades, grades, it was never ending, and he loved it. Teaching was a passion of his and had been for the past forty years he had been coursing youths to excel. As far as history was concerned, that was another one of his infatuations; he could go on about it for eternity, but a year of instruction only allowed for so much. That was enough, however, for he had enough fervor in him to last many more years of education; retirement had never seemed at option.  
  
What was more than just being Mr. G., as his pupils so affectionately called him; he was also Gordon, or even just Gordo on a lower level, when he became friends with the youth. Even a few students he had taught forty years ago, his first time teaching, still kept in contact with him. It was also a tad bit peculiar that not only did he become acquaintances with younger adults, but that they ranged from the "nerdy" cliques, to loners, punks and Goths, preppy, jock, or even very popular groups. He just had a way with people in general.  
  
He took a moment to settle down his documents and remove his large square glasses, massaging his wary fog colored eyes, and softly ran his fingers through his bleakly graying hair. Class would begin so soon, and he cleared away the unnecessary credentials into a bleary metal filing cabinet and readied himself for lessons.  
  
It would start before long, very little time left... His wise eyes followed the hands of the clock placed in the center of the back of the room, counting slowly in his head as it ticked. 'Five, four, three, two, one...' A wailing bell resounded within the school and suddenly the students were filing to their classes obediently, with the exceptions of a few freshmen rebels, who idiotically dissented the rules and would all soon enough end up in detention. * * * *  
  
First period was always a pleasure for Mr. Glavion because he had within the classroom walls eight of his favorite students, though he knew well enough to seat them at distances for the most part because many of them did not get along in the first place. He also knew, however, eventually one event or another would bring them to a mutual comprehension.  
  
He began his lecture on modern history where most had the intuition to get out their pens and notebooks to jot down annotations and interpretations of the class. Time seemed to stretch on as Gordon stressed the magnitude of what they were learning at that very moment, although many of the eight characters mentioned previously only slumped in their seats, but listened keenly.  
  
During the session Leo and Gerry, whilst the instructor's back was turned upon them, made rude one-fingered gestures at one another and sudden convulsive movements as if they were going to punch the other right there and then. Mark and Pat were, through passing slips of remarks to fellows, already taking wagers on how soon those two would let loose. Andrew watched all of them utterly listless but paying sharp attention, Frank and Drew were busy scribbling down Mr. G.'s every word, and Brian kept his head bent over some sort of doodle the entire time.  
  
Finally the bell sounded once more and they all departed, each giving a personalized wave of recognition to their professor, before disbanding in the corridors.  
  
Seminars seemed to speed through the day and before they had realized it, many of the senior class were seated in the cafeteria for a lunch break, which lasted a good half hour or so. Brian rejoined with other punks and they shared lonely, dismal glimpses about them, Leo went to his very social group, chatting it up with a pretty redheaded cheerleader, and Gerry sat on the opposite side of the large circular room by one of the many bright windows filtering light through, cracking his knuckles with a fist and maliciously eying his nemesis. Pat and Mark were, quite apparently, clustered in an area far off from the many people, clearly concealing something-most likely having to do with their raring to go discussion that morning-and Andrew settled in a seat in the central area of the cafeteria by Brian's table to watch it all.  
  
After allowing about five minutes of entering the lunch hall and for people to relax into their usual positions scattered about to dine, Pat and Mark must have unanimously come to the conclusion that it was high time that they reveal themselves and whatever they may have hidden up their sleeves.  
  
Normally they would have been scornfully ignored by the majority of the people gathered, but now in Pat's hand, visible to the seeing eyes, was held a spray can, and he jumped up nimbly onto a table just so happening to belong to that of Brian and his comrades, closely followed by Mark. Fervently shaking the bottle with a very self satisfied grin playing upon his lips, he gave Brian, who stared up blankly at him, a quick wink before presuming to squeeze down the cap of the container, directed upon a fire extinguisher sprinkler. A misty, smoky screen emerged in tufts of puffy smoke and smothered the small contraption placed squarely on a ceiling tile. Murmurs rose up like a wave with the hordes of seniors, pondering aloud what in the blazes those two thought they were doing. However, most concluded that the cousins had not been thinking at all.  
  
Meanwhile, Gerry had risen from his perch; completely disregarding the sudden stunning hush that covered the room like the haze was wrapping the sprinkler. Leo, after making eye contact, resumed his role and they, needless of words, would meet halfway between the distance separating them, brutally sizing one another up as muscles were flexed and hands were clenched into powerful fists.  
  
Frank and Drew innocently were wandering to find an empty area where they could reside for awhile and devour their meals and started to pass by the two fighters, who stood a foot apart in between the cousin's and Brian's table and Andrew's.  
  
At this very moment, Pat let out a gleeful shout of maniacal laughter as his and Mark's plan broke through. First that sprinkler turned on, but soon it become a chain reaction of every single one being put into effect and showering the young adults. But it was not water they soon found themselves drenched in; it was a substance made up of a multitude of products which released a very potent stench.  
  
Screams rose up from the many gathered there as they all rushed frantically to escape their fate. Many seated at the table on which Pat and his partner in crime were on abruptly stood and shoved away, knocking them off balance.  
  
Brian was thrusting his way past others but, on their way down, Mark reached out for a grip on anything in his reach and ended up getting a handful of the punk's shirt, drawing him to the ground. Pat blundered off and rammed into Gerry, who was taking a vicious swing at Leo. He toppled over into the other fallen pair as Frank tripped in a wad of the clunky substance released from the ceiling and tackled Leo beside the others. As Sandrew rushed to his aid, he too, found himself stumbling and, lacking support, snatching Andrew's pant leg as he had been exiting, and they both landed in a crumbled heap with the others.  
  
In the utter confusion and mayhem, Gerry had seized the opportunity and kneed Leo in the face, bloodying his nose so that, in turn, he propelled himself forward to punch his enemy in the lower gut. In a furious rage at being drawn into this mess, Brian kicked Mark in the ribs, who wrestled him as they slipped and slid around in the grotesque mess. Al of the young men were now blindly hitting, kicking, and even biting anyone they could wring their hands about.  
  
They had, obviously, given their state, not taken into account the fact that every other single person had fled the cafeteria and they were the only ones left.  
  
Unfortunately this led to the teachers' assumption; they must have all been involved in the destructive behavior.  
  
Mr. Xander, the assistant principal, marched in after one of the custodians had shut down all the sprinklers. Roughly he yanked the young men apart, narrowly avoiding a blow to the stomach, a distorted snarl plain on his old, aged face.  
  
"All of you!" he growled in what came out as a flustered scream, his wrinkled cheeks flushing a plum color. "Detention, now!"  
  
Panting and grumbling slurred curses at one another under their breath, all eight stingily wet students swaggered off to room one hundred-the detention hall. * * * *  
  
They immediately spread out spaciously in the room, Andrew and Brian stealing seats towards the back of the classroom, followed by Mark and Pat, Gerry and Leo opposite in the next row, and finally Drew and Frank in the front. All grumpily crossed their arms and sunk low in their chairs, waiting.  
  
Suddenly the teacher that was supposed to discipline them stepped in and they all almost outwardly gave gratified looks of relief. Mr. Glavion, drenched as well--though none of them knew why that could be since he had not been present in the cafeteria--gently shut the door behind him, removed his jacket which he draped carefully over the back of the predominant chair front and center, then relaxingly leaned against the blackboard. Though his face was sternly set, his eyes twinkled with concealed amusement.  
  
"Your behavior was inexcusable," he announced in a low tone, causing a cold shudder to tingle down their spines. Mr. G. paced up and down the aisles, hands clasped firmly behind his back. He made eye contact with each in turn. "Those sprinklers were set off in every room and hallway of the entire high school, causing much distress and chaos, not to mention grouchy students." Mark and Pat straightened up a little, glancing hopefully at each other. However, suddenly the professor was on them like a hawk on its prey.  
  
"You two," he sighed heavily, shaking his head back and forth. "What exactly was in that... Substance produced?"  
  
Pat piped up, almost enthusiastically, "Blue goo, mouse droppings, and spinach!" Gordon raised a quizzicall eyebrow with suspicion.  
  
"And what was in this 'blue goo' you created?" He slumped sheepishly as his cheeks blushed with embarrassment as a shadow of a shrug passed over his shoulders. The teacher only nodded, as if he anticipated this response.  
  
"I see. And you, Mark, how did you manage this?"  
  
"Well," he said unsurely, clearing his throat a number of times. "We, uh, tapped into the schools, erm, water ducts for the fire extinguisher sprinkler things by hacking the system maps from a computer... Then we, eh hem, produced-mass-amounts-of-the-PMS-liquid-" he said without taking a breath.  
  
Everyone turned their heads with disgusted looks embedded upon their facial features at the mention of what they had named their material, but Mark, quickly realizing how completely wrong that sounded, corrected himself.  
  
"Er, The Pat and Mark School liquid, blended the ingredients together so that it was able to fit through the sprinkler spouts and intermix with the water. It took us weeks to find the right spot, dig down deep enough to hit the pipes, insert ALL that we had in stock, then cover up our tracks." Again, Mr. Glavion nodded his head understandingly but concern was still evident in his composure.  
  
"And how do you feel about contaminating the entire school's water system?" he asked them harshly.  
  
"No, no, no," Pat tried to explain almost desperately. "We only put in so much; it should have been used up in the five minutes of steady release." A less bewildered guise replaced Gordon's posture and he even looked pleasantly astonished at their immature genius.  
  
"Well, strictly off of the record, despite the wrongness, that was a brilliant plan, one that is sure to have you remembered," commented Mr. Glavion. "Good work... But, however, you all still broke the rules and therefore deserve punishment."  
  
"Hey, wait a sec there Teach," objected Brian defiantly. "The rest of us didn't do nothin'-"  
  
"Anything," put in Gordon, but his pupil ignored him.  
  
"-why should we get punished?" A smile flickered across their superior's face before fading just as swiftly.  
  
"Ah, but you were all involved in a fight-" he eyed Leo and Gerry, who averted their eyes, "-isn't that so?"  
  
Brian muttered a slightly coherent, "Yes, sir."  
  
"And so, I believe those punishments should be handed out. Gerry and Leo, I would like you to gather of the chunky remnants of the 'accident'-yes, together you two-and Mark and Andrew, scrub the tables and chairs. Sandrew, Pat, you wipe off the walls, and Frank and Brian, you take care of the floor. Now, I think that about covers it." He gave them a smile far too sweet. "You're to report here this upcoming Saturday for duty purposes. Dismissed." * * * *  
  
That weekend all eight, plus Mr. Glavion, arrived at school to scrub, wipe, polish, and mop.  
  
It took quite awhile, but after they all eventually completed what they set out to do, the accompaniment wasn't as dreaded. The whole while Gerry and Leo discussed their differences and rivalries, and although they had secret resentment present in the back of their minds, they became acquaintances as opposed to adversaries. The rest of them learned to appreciate the diversity as well, and before they even realized it, they all formed a silent bond of companionship.  
  
Previous to retiring for the day, they each approached the predominant wall, covered with posters of campaigns and advertisements in the school. Tearing off a few useless papers, Brian flicked out a switch blade and carved B.O. The rest followed suit; F.B., S.G., M.B., P.T., A.A., G.G., and L.G. Then, to the astonishment of them all, their favorite teacher ambled over after watching them thoughtfully, retrieved the knife, and carved G.T.G.  
  
Their mural was small, all in a single column, only reaching the length of a piece of printer paper.  
  
However, as they all gave each other a light-hearted pat on the back with friendly knowing smiles after being put through such a task together, that Monday they all received notes in homeroom...  
  
Informing them of next Saturday's detention.  
  
And so they came to be a fellowship of sorts, made up of the most unlikely companions imaginable; a punk, a pretty boy, a jock, two mischievous fools, two good boys, a loner, and a very compatible teacher, in the end becoming closer than anyone could have ever dreamt of.  
  
The fellowship of the Ring is similar to that of the fellowship of the PMS (Pat and Mark School substance); a band of distant and assorted characters, over time forming a bond that would indeed last forever. Until the next prank or quest, that is.  
  
THE END  
  
******well, it was a short story, not really a chapter followed by sequence. But hey, if anyone even bothers to read this thing and likes it, perhaps I could write more things for it... It only took me a little while, I wasn't putting my whole effort in.  
  
Hey Rachael, there's a light bulb! Noggin*click*duuude... lol Sorry just saw that movie; anyway, this was totally obvious, I probably SHOULD try putting in a lot of effort and then the ending won't be so cut short.  
  
Seriously readers, your opinions matter! I'd like to know...  
  
Even if you don't review, thanks for checking this out and making it to the end where you COULD read my ramblings! 


End file.
